


III. Roasted - God of Fire

by 56leon



Series: 2018 Inktober Prompts / Fictober Fills [3]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Hip Hop, Kiril Can't Write Raps 2k18, Rap, literally the cringiest shit ever oh my god, part of a bigger universe I hope I never have to explore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-24 23:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16185299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/56leon/pseuds/56leon
Summary: Inktober/Fictober Day 3. Roasted.Therion- secretly a rap god.Gareth- the challenger who's in over his head.Everybody else- along for the ride.Need I say more?





	III. Roasted - God of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, my name is Kiril and I have no sense of rhythm OR poetry why did I think this was a good idea.
> 
> (jk I write raps in my free time. Just not good ones.)

##  Wait, you just dissed me? I'm perplexed / Insult me in a line, compliment me on the next.

##                                 -Eminem, _Killshot_

* * *

“Still don’t get how you can stand this. I mean, all the power to you, but......isn’t it tiring?” Alfyn Greengrass stares at Therion Eisenberg from where his head is rested on Therion’s desk. He’s turned around in his own chair, obviously hungry for attention from literally anybody- and Therion just happens to be the closest,  _ debatably _ willing, victim. Therion himself, however, is barely paying attention as he scrolls down his Twitter feed, lavender-framed glasses slipping precariously down the bridge of his nose. “There’s another party tonight, but Olberic definitely isn’t letting you go on a school night.”

“Course he’s not,” is Therion’s reply as he likes another tweet about the underground rap scene. “But he doesn’t have to  _ let _ me do anything if he doesn’t know I’m doing it to begin with. Hey, is Tress going tonight?”

Alfyn shrugs and sends her a quick text; he gets one in reply mere seconds later, much to his amusement. “She says, and I quote,  _ hell yes, you’re not getting rid of me that easy.... _ T-word.” Therion lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like  _ ugh.  _ She knows better than to use the T-word in any context other than when they’re in the recording studio. If the school were to find out that Therion, ex-juvie-on-watchlist and adopted-son-of-two-cops was also Titus, rap-artist-extraordinaire and self-proclaimed-god-of-flames, he would never hear the end of it. Especially from Olberic, who has  _ absolutely no idea. _ He already doesn’t particularly like Therion’s choice in music, but to know that he’s also engaging in it......as much as Therion hates to admit it, he loves his dads and would rather not have one of them die of stress at such a young age. “You know, Olberic is gonna be  _ really _ pissed if he hears you’ve been dragging Tressa into this. Me, eh, I’m a stupid young adult male, I’ve got hormones that tell me to jump off cliffs and stuff so this is debatably healthier, but.....well, this is Tressa’s first year of college, y’know. This is probably really bad for her.”

“Like I said,” Therion repeats halfheartedly as the teacher walks into the class, signalling for him to hide his phone under his desk and for Alfy to turn around in his seat. “What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

Alfyn just laughs at Therion’s comment, smiling at the joke before paying attention in class.

* * *

 

It’s not until two hours later during lunch that realization hits Alfyn.

“Uh, wait.....you weren’t serious about not telling Olberic, were you?”

Therion smirks.

* * *

 

“Hey, loser, get in. We’re going partying!”

Alfyn looks on in bug-eyed shock as an unmarked but clearly licensed  _ police car _ rolls up to his front door, with two smug looking friends decked out in full hip hop attire sitting in the driver and front passenger seats. “Oh my gods, oh Dohter alive. I’m never going to hear the end of this. You guys seriously  _ stole _ Erhardt’s cop car?”

“No,” Tressa replies cheerfully, grinning from ear to ear. “Erhardt gave us Erhardt;s cop keys to Erhardt’s cop car! He said if we’re doing stupid stuff, at the very least we shouldn’t be doing  _ illegal _ stupid stuff.” She pauses for a moment. “Also, Olberic was asleep and Erhardt gave us twenty bucks to record Therion absolutely trashing somebody tonight.”

Alfyn is still mumbling  _ oh my gods _ and  _ Aeber forgive us _ as he opens the door to the car and slides into the very uncomfortable back seat, but at least they stop somewhere halfway between his house and their destination. Finally, when they’re out of the car and approaching the outdoor venue, Alfyn poses a question. “Hey, does Erhardt really support your...... _ occupation _ this much, Ther? I thought he’d be all  _ ‘No, parties are bad, study and follow the rules’ _ like Olberic.”

“He’s chill,” Therion replies as he cruises them down the highway. “As long as I’m not getting caught breaking any laws, it’s fine. I don’t steal shit anymore, at least. Never did drugs, never drank, never smoked.....” He snorts at the thought. He’s against them for a host of reasons, but most of those  _ reasons _ center around the reason he had been caught stealing in the first place. It’s not a happy memory. “He found out I liked to write, and he was the one who introduced me and Tress to Heathcote. Told Olberic that it’s a ‘menial labor job’, too. Half of the income goes towards house bills anyways, so he really can’t complain.”

As they draw closer to the party, Alfyn falls silent and instead sweeps the crowd for familiar faces while Therion is bombarded with  _ ‘Hey, Titus!’  _ and  _ ‘gonna crush tonight again?’ _ He simply responds with small nods or vague gestures, only verbally replying once or twice to his closer friends- Primrose, Ali, Leon. There aren’t many who attend these events, but he appreciates their support more than others.

It isn’t long until the emcee calls him out - of course, he’s the reigning champion of their weekly Sunday Streetfight rap battles, so it’s no wonder - and he’s forced on stage in between sets. “So, the crown king finally shows up on his day off,” he teases, earning a laugh from the crowd. “Why don’t you throw us a couple verses from your next album, huh? Give us a teaser?”

While he’s usually not against it, Heathcote has been  _ very _ strict about the latest release, and Therion doesn’t blame him. It’s on the forecast for being a chart topper, and the suspense has only racked up the value. “I dunno if I should. Maybe you should just buy it when it comes out.” That earns a groan from the crowd, but one voice shouts above the rest, making him pause.

“Why don’t you battle me instead?”

The emcee picks up on it almost immediately, and shakes his head. “Hey, you know battles are only allowed on Sundays-”

“Hey. I’ll do it.” He looks out at the crowd as the crowd clears around the speaker. He’s dressed head to toe in black, much more gothic-looking than Therion’s own black-and-purple ensemble, and there’s something in his eyes that Therion can’t place, but it sparks challenge in him nonetheless. Whoever this guy is, he’s brave to challenge Therion when he’s basically a nobody. As soon as he makes his way up to the stage, Therion addresses him. “Do I get a name?”

“Gareth.” That’s all he supplies though, and Therion is known for being quiet; the emcee, fortunately, notices the atmosphere growing awkward, and so quickly gestures to the DJ currently at the turntables to do something before everybody gets bored with their staring contest.

The DJ starts a beat, and they both pause for a minute to find themselves in the music before Therion gestures at Gareth.  _ Challenger starts the diss, _ house rules state. Gareth nods before starting.  **“Okay, let’s start it off slow for the** **_pro_ ** **. I sure hope you don’t just go when I bruise your pretty ego. Let me see, for starters, what the hell’s with that tattoo? You got a thing for snakes, or ugly’s got a thing for you?”** There are a few  _ ooh _ s from the crowd, most of them low and not all too threatening. After all, everybody knows the story about the dragon tattoo already, and it’s a low blow that’s been attacked too many times in the past to have any effect on him. In fact, most of the starting disses are basic at best, and only one particular line after that stands out-

**“Looked better on Blackbeard, and he was a one.”**

-and he knows exactly what it’s about.

Despite the sore feelings he still has about his eye, Therion barely snorts; while he would have flinched in years past, the battles have hardened him. It’s not like people were going to go easy on him just because he has a physical deformity. Quite the opposite, actually, and there’s nothing easier than taking a low blow and turning it into an easy retaliation. **“I’m so** ** _surprised,_** **you think you’re smooth, you think it’s** ** _new_** **, you think you’re cool. Well Leo tried to pull the same shit you do, and now he’s through.”** Somewhere in the crowd, Leon Bastralle, who had a black eye for two months straight after being the first to make fun of the scar on Therion’s left eye, raises a glass. _Amen to that._ **“Thanks for calling me pretty, though, I appreciate the thought. But trust me, you just ain’t my type- like your roasts, your looks ain’t hot.”**

That earns a loud  _ ooooohh _ from the crowd, which only boosts his ego even more. The entire floor is on his side, and they both know it. Even if Gareth was half as good as he is - which he’s  _ not, _ thank you very much - there’s no way he’d sway a fanbase like this.  **“You don’t know what a dragon is, for real, can you call that a diss? I throw fire like I breathe, while your weak words just sit and freeze. Insult after insult- repeat that shit, don’t bother me. Attack my looks, hell, I’ll take three, ‘cause my flow is perfect, but the potshot’s free.”**

There’s a teasing grin on his face as he continues, calling Gareth out on every single word. He’s been cheap so far, attacking him on physical looks alone and taking the challenger advantage and absolutely  _ wasting _ it.  **“I gave you a chance, and you blew it- on what? A light ass drag on the drag and my edgy haircut? Course I look bad- but you forgot about the ass.”** Oh, that’s a bad one, not his best line, and he knows he’s going to get laughed at by Alfyn for that later, but at least his female fans seem to agree, based on the wolf whistles coming from the crowd. **“But it ain’t just about the style, you gotta have class. While you beg for scraps, I ain’t holding out on clapbacks. Punkass bitch prob wants MCR back- you’re the reason they left, cause your style’s shit whack. Emo poetry just ain’t rappin’, son. Might wanna check that before you get stung.”**

Gareth falters for just a second and  _ oh, that’s no fun. _ Trying to goad him back into the battle, Therion leans forward into the mic now in Gareth’s hands - earning a few noises from his  _ weird _ fans that he’d rather not think about - and smirks.

**“No, take your time, by all means, be my guest- must take a while to make such a rappin’ mess.”**

**“Nice trash talk from a lavender who spits like a pansy. Think you can roast just cause you talk all nice and fancy. Don’t call me son when you’re a brat at the mic-”** Gareth falters for a split second; not enough for most people to pick up, but the DJ definitely has to skip a beat to make up for lost time, and everybody on stage knows it. **“Hell no, you’re a toddler who ain’t even know to bite.”**

Weak verses. Weak rhymes. Gareth recovers soon after, but he’s struggling, and Therion almost wants to shut him down before he can make a fool of himself and stumble in a way that the entire audience notices. At the very least, he waits until Gareth is finished with his verse - so poor and contentless that Therion stops paying attention somewhere after the toddler line - to respond. He knows he’s won at this point, there’s nothing more he has to say, and so he signals his last verse to the emcee before laying it all in.

**“Take a minute to reflect, pay respects, tell your next, cause you’ve only got another verse til I’ll be wringin’ your damn neck. Don’t call me kid, kid, cause you’re talking to a veteran. You listen to the top, immortal gods? Fuck** **_yeah,_ ** **I’m one of ‘em. If this shit’s the best you got, then sit your ass down, son. You’re a grade school bully takin’ on, a gangster going one-to-one, you know that you’re gonna get hung. You’re a wannabe verse thief, but you got no fuckin’ honor. If streets cred’s our weapon, then bitch, you’re a** **_goner.”_ **

Therion forces a mic drop and turns 360 degrees to imitate walking away before dropping into a squat and catching it right before it hits the ground. The emcee looks absolutely panicked and relieved at the events, and if Therion has to be honest, he feels the exact same way; he’s practiced the move at home to use at events like these, and by the sound of the crowd going wild it works like he hopes, but he’s only actually been successful once out of every three attempts. If he had broken it today.......well, he’s just glad he didn’t. Instead of dwelling on the possibility, he holds it out to Gareth, and is only slightly surprised when he snorts in irritation and slaps his hand away with only a few words in response.

“I’m not an idiot. I know when I’ve lost.”

The crowd has no hesitation in cheering as soon as Gareth exits stage left, and the emcee watches him go for a moment before yelling into the mic that has now somehow found its way into his hands. “Well, I guess that settles it. For his fifth week in a row, give it up to our home champ,  _ Titus!” _

* * *

 

Therion isn’t done with Gareth, not by any means, and he manages to catch him in the parking lot five minutes later, taking a drag from a cigarette. Therion resists the urge to flinch as he approaches him; he always did hate the smell of cigarette smoke. “Yo.”

“Go celebrate somewhere else,” Gareth scowls, pulling his cancer stick away from his mouth. “I’m pretty sure your  _ fans _ are lining up as we speak.”

“Nah, I prefer talking to people I actually hate with every inch of my being. And yeah,” he adds before Gareth can make the joke himself, “I  _ know  _ that’s not a lot of inches. But that’s enough about me, I want to hear about  _ you. _ ”

That causes Gareth to pause, even though he still doesn’t look at Therion. “What about me?”

“Well, you’re not signed- or not published, at least. We know all the signed artists around here, and you’re not one of them.” He’s referring to the professionals, like himself and a few others in the crowd. Artists who have  _ signed _ with record companies to release their work. While Gareth’s style is vaguely familiar, he knows he’s never heard his voice in any professional album he’s ever listened to, and his face has never even popped up on Twitter, from what he’s seen.

“Cianno Records,” is Gareth’s short reply, and Therion says nothing in favor of hiding the breath he sucks in. It’s a good thing too, as Gareth continues. “My idiot of a manager would’ve let me record my first studio album if you hadn’t fuckin’ won. But....shit’s shit, I guess. Maybe next time.”

Therion doubts it. If he knows anything about Gareth’s supposed  _ manager _ \- and he knows quite a bit, more than he’s proud to - then there may not be a next time. He makes a mental note to introduce Gareth to another manager if push comes to shove.

“And you?” Gareth finally turns to look at Therion, raising an eyebrow. “I just had orders to come here and trash whoever the reigning champ was. Never heard anybody say  _ who _ it was.” And that’s what Therion’s been looking for. The reason why this nobody, especially one signed under  _ that _ company, had waltzed up on stage and challenged him like he wasn’t challenging the god of flames himself.

“Your boss knows me as Therion, but most people call me Titus.” He pulls a pose to accentuate the reveal- his fist raised towards his face, ring finger extended in a way that it covers his bad eye. It’s Titus’s signature look, back from his first album cover, and Gareth steps back in surprise. Therion knows exactly who Gareth is signed under, and they both would have thought that  _ he _ knows better than to send half-baked wannabes with no intel after him. “I’d say it’s been fun, but I swore on my mom’s grave that I wouldn’t tell lies.” He pauses for a second before tilting his head in thought. “Oh, and Gareth? Tell Dumachus I say hi.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel and walks away, hands in his pockets and humming the low tune played during their battle all the way back to Erhardt’s police car.


End file.
